


We Hope For Better Things

by paperchimes



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Connor is now a baby and loves Hank very much, Drabble, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Sacrifice Connor Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 03:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15621669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperchimes/pseuds/paperchimes
Summary: Between scattered toys and the takeaway food wrappers, Hank tiptoed through these little monuments of parenthood, the whole while cradling Connor close to his chest. Gently, delicately, he rocked him in his arms in hopes that he could be coaxed back to sleep before dawn. The glow of the mounted clock read [3:14am] in Connor’s favourite shade of blue.





	We Hope For Better Things

**Author's Note:**

> I stumbled across some [Baby Connor fanart](https://lemonsonsticks.tumblr.com/post/176186529401) on tumblr and I fell in love. Kudos to [lemonsonsticks](http://lemonsonsticks.tumblr.com) for illustrating the beautiful world of [Pizelle's Baby Connor Series.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pizelle/pseuds/Pizelle) Do follow these two, they're great at what they do.
> 
> Mild Disclaimer: This fic is inpired by Baby Connor by Pizelle but may not take place in the same universe.

“See that, Connor? That’s you.”

“Dah!”

“Yes, you were so brave, Connor.”

A delighted gurgle. The small bundle in Hank’s arms squirmed in glee.

“Yes, yes,” Hank crooned, touching their foreheads together. “You were so brave back then.”

Not fully understanding but grasping just enough of this big, new world to know what made Hank smile, Connor blew a raspberry against his nose. Hank laughed. A hint of a grin quirked up at the corners of his mouth at the cascade of soft giggles chiming from the baby in his arms.

The sound of the television was faraway now, the static-filled commentary a low echo in the living room. Between scattered toys and the takeaway food wrappers, Hank tiptoed through these little monuments of parenthood, the whole while cradling Connor close to his chest. Gently, delicately, he rocked him in his arms in hopes that he could be coaxed back to sleep before dawn. The glow of the mounted clock read [3:14am] in Connor’s favourite shade of blue.

“You, you’re so brave now too.”

He cast a glance back to the TV screen, the recording having buzzed to an abrupt halt. The silence was unnerving and almost uncharacteristic of his messy living room.

Hank never enjoyed watching the clip all the way to the end. He made it a point to have it cropped away the moment he received the requested footage from Fowler.

He drew in a deep breath.

The disapproving look in his superior’s eyes was still fresh in his mind. He recalled ignoring it as he pocketed the memory drive as discreetly as he could.

Connor’s “fully grown” face greeted him from the other side of the screen, with an expression so conflicted, so pained, it could easily draw the attention away from the precarious gun pressed against his chin.

Hank felt his eyes grow warm at the sight, vision blurring from new tears, all over again.

_Connor…_

He must’ve felt so incredibly alone.

“Wahh!” wailed the bundle in his arms, compelling Hank to spring back into action. Jolted to the present, he was stunned to realise that his rocking had slowed to a complete stop. Connor cried out again - more out of neglect than actual discomfort - and Hank held him close, soothing him with a string of apologies.

Gently rocking Connor with renewed tenderness, he hummed the first lullaby that came to his mind.

Allowing a stray tear to roll down the side of his face.

“Sorry, son, daddy was just thinking,” was his soft murmur against the top of Connor’s head. Wefts of thick black hair ticked his nose as he did. As his crying began to soften to hiccoughs and the soft whimpers, Hank decided it was safe enough to settle down on the couch.

All it took was one stray glance to the TV and it was _his_ turn to hold back his tears.

“Shhh, don’t worry, daddy’s here,” he whispered, heartbroken, the ghost of Connor’s past still frozen on the screen.

_“They can’t hurt you anymore.”_

\---

The sound of wind. Snow. Pinpricks of lights. Spotlights. Blurred vision.

White cloth, blue triangles. Sterility. Thirium from the motionless Jericho refugees staining the hem of their clothes.

Connor stood at the apex of it all, the remnants of the chaos that tore apart Hart’s Plaza still blazing in the background. Everything happened so fast. He wasn’t quick enough, wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t _good_ enough to neutralise the RK800 that had taken Hank hostage. If only, if only he did what needed to be done, none of this would have happened.

Based on the preconstruction calculations, he _knew_ back then what the “optimum choice” was, and _yet_ he decided not to.

Why?

He wanted Hank to _live._

And now, here he was paying the price, deep in his mind intercepted yet again.

As he stepped forward to address the newly awoken populace, Connor found himself plunged into yet another battle, a battle only _he_ could see, taking place deep inside him. He hadn’t anticipated this at all. Being forced to fight for his freedom a second time was not a possibility he had not taken into consideration.

Despite that, his mind was already regarding the new numbers, the new statistics, his LED whirring to red as he attempted to calculate the best outcome: the one with the least number of casualties.

Red pulsed to cautious yellow, and then coming full circle, cycled back to blue.

There was only one.

Connor didn’t hesitate.

It took no time at all to draw his gun. Much less time than it could have taken if he was human. Fortunately, the androids in the crowd did not seem to understand what he was about to do.

Good.

It was better this way.

The barrel of the gun was cold as he pressed it against the hollow of his skull, Connor wondering briefly what Hank would think of all this. How would a man so hellbent on self-sabotage feel about a _being_ so determined to live taking its own life?

This was the only thought that passed through Connor’s mind in his final moments.

 _‘Hank,’_ he regarded internally, allowing his index finger to trace along the trigger.

_‘I’ll miss you, Hank.’_

He closed his eyes.

_‘If there is such a thing as reincarnation, I hope I could be your son.’_

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please do drop me a kudos or comment!
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr](http://paperchimes.tumblr.com). Feel free to scream with me about these lovely androids.
> 
> Hope each and every one of you has a great week!


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